Dear Love,
by yourLastLove
Summary: How is one to live in the shadow of such a man as Lucius Malfoy? Especially when that shadow seems to have an apocalyptic mind of it's own... He could run. He could just leave. But he has a reason to fight, even if he has to fight alone.


_Where is it… It's here somewhere… I can feel it…_ The room is practically coming apart at the seams as I throw things without so much as looking at them first, frustration pouring out of my very soul at this point and I just can't take it anymore. It's here. I know it's here. And it's doing damn well at hiding.

Glass shatters and old wood breaks against the stone walls but I don't stop. It's calling me. Ironic, since I'm here to burn it out of existence. It's screaming my name for all intents and purposes and Merlin help me if I don't end this right now.

Of course, I know that by ending it _right now_ I'll only be doing such a little piece of what needs to be done. But that's just it. It needs to be done. And stupid _Potter_ clearly enough hasn't had the balls or the brains to do it. How often has he used this damned room? How often was he up here and didn't notice it calling with a song that left chills worse than the promise of a dementors kiss?

I've looked everywhere. I know I have. It must have some kind of protection spell on it (well, why wouldn't it?) or else I would have found it by now. Right? My heart was beating too fast and I was so hot I was sweating. This feeling was building pressure. This anger at a bloody inanimate object was going to make me burst. Searching for any sort of relief (though I admit I really just can't control myself at this point) I scream out a curse against my own name, chucking some kind of vase that's probably nearly as old as the castle itself and seeing through red vision as it falls, shattered, through an equally shattered window down to the grass far below. It's nighttime. No one will notice.

It's nighttime. How long have I been here? _Doesn't matter. Time is nothing if we're all dead._ I get back to work. Turning over this and that and feeling as though I'm about to totally lose my mind and then… a glimmer… of… _the diadem._ I climb on top of the pile of rubbish I've created, nearly falling too many times since nothing is attached and everything's broken, but I finally reach it. I stretch my fingers (with a black cloth, I'm not a complete imbecile), they lock perfectly around it...

"Draco!"

I drop it.

Turning around, trying so hard to keep a neutral face (although I probably look halfway mad by now), I see her.

Her beautiful brown curls are reflecting the light from the torches lit around the room. Her skin is perfect, her eyes show how pure she is despite everything she's been through, and the moonlight shines off of them wonderfully. I am… distraught.

"What are you doing up?" I ask.

"I could ask you the same thing." She's looking around the room, and it is what it looks like. I have no explanation for myself. I'm not about to tell her what I've found.

I take a few steps forward. "I'm not going to explain myself."

She doesn't look surprised. She just reaches out and takes my hand, and for a second, my heart feels like it might explode, although she just turns it over and observes a not so small laceration that runs beneath my sleeve. Huh.

Turns out, I'm not going to give her long to examine my wounds, and I only realize this because suddenly my hand is in her hair and I'm pulling her in for a kiss that starts slow and becomes harsh all too quickly. I just wish so desperately that she'll understand. She seems taken aback, but she's kissing me back anyway. Roughly, I move us both back into the corner of the room that gives us exactly what we need. Down onto the bed she goes, with me soon to follow. I'm more focused on removing her shoes and shirt and the like to really think too much about kissing.

"What are you doing?"

"I'll stop." I don't stop, I slow down, and I watch her for any sign that she doesn't want me. Instead of pushing me away, she lies back and tugs the material on my shoulders as she does, bringing my lips back to hers.

Eventually it becomes light, and I'm alone. It's time.

The diadem is in front of me, as is my wand, and I speak those unbearable words that my dreaded aunt has taught me so terribly well. Fire swells from the tip of my wand, and although voices and images and bloody hell wreak havoc in my mind, a year of torturous (literally) practicing keeps the blaze steady. Soon, the diadem is nothing, and it feels as if that's true for myself as well.

Walking with a feeling quite similar to that of being jinxed with jelly legs, I stop at the broken window. Looking down, my life rushes before my eyes. And though I might have questioned it before, I know exactly why I am where I am.

 **A/N: Ok, so this is the first draft of this prologue… I'm getting back into writing after school took all of the creative abilities out of me and replaced them with technical legal terms (boo, school). So. Any tips or pointers would be amazing! Also, this is rated T at the moment, but I haven't decided if I'm going to try my hand at a real M rating for the first time and really fill out this scene (not just** _ **like that**_ **, okay), or if I'm just going to move on and let the real details fill themselves in as we go… But anyway, thanks for reading, much love to my fellow wizards, witches, squibs, and muggles (and others)!**


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